Long Louis Poems
Long Louis Poems. Below are the most popular long Louis by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Louis poems by poem length and keyword.
The green rind
of the two-wheeler
remembers
Anne & Louis
with legs splayed.
They scream and laugh
as they race downhill,
then his feet with friction
still
the excitement, as
he turns around and faces
her, above the watermelon
cache. The kickstand
in place, as he plants
a kiss on Anne’s closed lips.
Famished, their transport
would be easy eats -
retiring would require
a walk to the farmer’s market.
They opt for training wheels,
as well - oranges are sweet
forbearance.
6/29/2022
Contest: A Watermelon Fantasy Ride To Feed My Imagination
Sponsor: Mystic Rose Rose
To A Mule
The feats of Tim and what he was able to accomplish were remarkable.
The site of heavy cotton sacks, stacked high upon his back, is memorable.
He did his job splendidly, and no one registered a complaint against him.
He was teachable, reliable, and strong, as long as you fed and watered Tim.
There were no cargo fees or tolls to pay; and all one had to say to him was, “Ho, or Go!”
If you cared for him properly and duly respected him, he would never say, “No!”
Who would not want to care for someone who lifted burdens and carried heavy loads?
Tim seemed always happy when ever I saw him being ridden by Bubba along the roads.
Bubba and Louis were the workers who used Tim to ploy or carry heavy cotton sacks.
As a boy, daddy taught me to cultivate with a single ploy attached to Tim’s strong back.
The likes of Tim and his fore parents had been used on farms for many generations.
Their use declined when tractors took over with changing farm worker populations.
07132016 PS Contest, “To A….” by David Lindsay
Do we need all we buy
Or buy what we need
Those in need cannot afford
To be greedy
When they have mouths to feed
Babies crying
Old folks dying
Of the lack of food
All decaying
Bills need paying
The fire needs some wood
Mum is sneezing
Grandpa is wheezing
Dad is not looking good
Got no wages
It's been ages
Since he had a job
He does odd jobs now
As much as time will allow
To earn a few bobs.
Woman passes
Wearing sunglasses
Fashioned by the best
Bulgari Flora
You can be sure
They're more expensive than the rest.
Louis Vuitton
Parisien suit on
Her stilettos are handmade
She has a taste for champagne,
Not cordial or lemonade.
Her hair and makeup faultless
If slightly overdone
She is greedy and thoughtless
And competes with everyone
It is all she lives for
She adores
Her life of luxury
She doesn't acknowledge the poor
Why, on earth, should she?
Veronica did nuclear research in Blackfoot, Idaho
Went to a Walmart one day, with her two-year-old in tow.
Kid reached into her bag, pulled out her gun
She was shot dead by her two-year-old son.
Sergey researched superconductive vortex lines.
One day men invaded his town, death on their minds
They killed all pedestrians: fear by design
Shot Sergey from his yard to free Palestine.
Louis used a screwdriver to keep halves of a sphere apart
Contact goes critical, not a task for faint of heart.
The screwdriver slipped, the halves came too close
The room glowed blue, he got a lethal dose.
Samuel was an A.I. engineer, pushed a frontier
He brushed past Rakeem, came too near.
Rakeem punched Sam so hard that in two days Sam died.
You don't expect that on a subway ride.
Four scientists dead, acts of God, acts of man?
Such random tragedy, only one was a plan
Can we blame the victim? It doesn't seem right.
They chased the truth, fought the good fight
Who of us knows if we'll be alive tonight.
Major League Baseball is now like all the rest.
A team no longer has to finish first to be the best.
Teams with mediocre records can win it all,
just the way they do in hockey, football, and basketball.
The St. Louis Cardinals proved it wasn’t hard.
They would not have made the playoffs without the Wild Card.
The Phillies had the best record with their pitching aces.
However, the Cardinals made them fall flat on their faces.
After that, most of you know the rest of the story.
A World Series win gave the Cardinals glory.
Then came the old perennial saying quite clear.
All the losing teams said, “Wait Until Next Year”.
What if....?
Death was a lottery,
With a Powerball price of a million dollars
Will people still queue up to play?
What if death was a clock, and you had one option
To either fast forward, pause, or rewind it; What will your option be?
What if death was a bank, and one could advocate with it;
Request death forgiveness, death deferment, or death forbearance?
What about death refinancing or death equity?
What if death was like a touch tone phone
And one could put death on hold;
Press zero to bypass mesmerizing angels of death at the reception;
And pally or advocate directly with death?
What if death was a court,
And one could ask for an interlocutory injunction,
Or death arbitration, death adjournment or deferment?
What if death was a wish,
Will beggars still elect to ride, or bolt like Usain?
What if death was cash and carry,
Will the rich, high and mighty,
Be so generous with their cash, as they are to brand names like:
Ferrari, Bugatti and Louis Vuitton?
Or will they chicken out like a cold Turkey?
What if death was a rain check
Will people Queue up to cash in on it?
What if death was like a set of clothes
And one could change from it
Like a Snake discards it's old and worn out skin?
What if death was a marathon
Who would elect to first breast the tape?
What if death was a school or an exam,
And one could do a remediation, carry death over,
Select another elective, or take a death sabbatical?
What if death was an essential commodity
Would you put it on layaway
And make installment plan ?
What if death was a widow,
Will people still accept a widows mite? What if.....?
As I drive by the end of days I see a pumpkin and a happy witch on the doorstep of my joy,
As I pass by my four year old’s awe toward friendly ghosts down the street of nostalgia,
I am reminded of Saints gone home and good souls on their penitent journey,
Zora Neale Hurston, Langston Hughes, Countee Cullen, Paul Robeson and the poets of my past,
Hendrix, Morrison, Michael, Louis Armstong and the Sounds of my testimony,
Prince and Wynton Marsalis, Miles Davis, Amadeus, Earth, Wind, and Fire,
Saints living, saints dead, souls vibrant, souls sad in the darkness of regret,
We are a glorious symphony on this, this all Hallows Eve,
The eve of that day when I celebrate the muses of my sacrifice and the foundations of my epiphanies,
“Halloween is here” my youngest daughter exclaims and I am reminded of many a night spent scavenging for sweet things and expectant laughter,
Tragic kings like Edgar Allen and Charlie Parker, souls with so much pregnant genius that the world was too much for them,
It is our celebration dear friends that will move the mountains of discontent,
And so in this season of harvest, carpe diem calls me to absorb as much love as I can as the sun sets on purple leaves and gorgeous corn stalks,
And in mother Africa, the ancestors dance like their Celtic sisters who fused the worship of our Lord and the glory of mother Gaia,
And in mother Africa the land recovers from the grief stricken sting of rape,
And in mother Africa my sisters and brothers celebrate the saints gone forward into that great mystery,
Tecumseh and Black Elk I celebrate the brilliance of your aptitude,
And I cry with you in triumph for the resurrection of a people forsaken but not defeated,
Come Glory,
On this All Hallows Eve, I celebrate the beauty of a journey full of confusion and catharsis,
For the reality is that we truly cannot fail,
As our cloud of witnesses sing to me of the victory that awaits,
Tonight, adorned with the fashion of merriment,
And the subtle chill of October wind reds our lips,
Come Glory and Glory be to the faithful departed,
Happy Halloween!
The fall of man
Can be heard outside my window.
Miles away,
Broken bones
Fractured smiles
Life’s a tidal wave with many trials.
Desolate islands dwell within
Until you allow Jesus to enter in.
Parasites,
Plagued you for quite sometime
Dulling your radiant, God given shine.
My loaner love,
The sun has set,
But, I know
I won’t have to live in regret.
The day Jesus touched you
I saw with my own two eyes
for a moment, in time ,you were truly alive.
Your heart it thrived
You felt no need to strive.
Over flowing with desire
Dreaming about a better tomorrow.
Your touch became flesh
While History lingered in the air
I danced with an angel delightfully rare.
But,
Suddenly, you turned away
The devils lie came back for its prey
The fight,
The battle,
It wore you out
You forgot what life was all about
And now you rest
In heavens arms
Safe and Whole
The Torment is gone.
For the very first time
The voids have been erased
Now you see God
face to face.
By: Sabina Nicole
Dedicated: Louis James
The heart of an angel
I love you....I know I will see you again
Louis the Fifteenth, king of France,
Adored Madame du Barry.
His royal ardor was not bound
To the person he did marry.
His paramour was hard to please.
The king brooded day and night
On what act of loving kindness
Might appease her appetite.
One day he called his jeweller,
Whose face turned pale, then green,
When told to make a necklace
The likes of which no eyes had seen.
Vanity of vanities! Let nobody forget:
All humankind proposes yields to a Higher Will.
For the king lay dead and buried
When it was time to pay the bill.
They asked:' Who has got the money?
Who is there so rich
As to settle payment
And haul us from this ditch?
Louis the Sixteenth was now king,
But not long on the throne.
To purchasing the necklace
He himself was prone.
His wife strongly objected.
She thought the whole thing crazy.'
'We need to spend on self-defence:
More vessels for the navy!'
Now Cardinal De Rohan was a worldly priest,
Not averse to 'oo la la.'
Especially not in the matter of
Jeanne de la Motte Valois.
As a young girl she was naughty,
But she confessed in style.
The priest let her off counting rosary beads
All for the sake of her sweet winning smile.
Jeanne told the cardinal
They could have a sales deal signed
As friends at court had signaled
That the queen had changed her mind.
The queen and cardinal soon met
And the queen signed with aplomb.
De Rohan was too befuddled
To sense something was wrong
The queen received the necklace
But the queen was not the queen.
Charming though the lady was,
Who knew where she had been?
The necklace was picked to pieces
And sold off part by part.
O woeful desecration
Of this glorious objet d'art?
The cardinal faced the music
A victim of delusion
'Gullable, not guilty,'
came the court's conclusion.
Madame de la Motte Valois
Had no basis for a plea
And she was branded on both arms
With the letter V.
This letter stood for 'Voleuse,'
Meaning in English 'thief.'
Somehow she got to London,
And there she came to grief.
When fleeing from her creditors,
She fell from an upper floor.
Those creditors she did escape,
But only at death's door.
During her interment
Wagging tongues spoke of her guile
But someone chirped in her defence:
'But she had such a sweet winning smile.'
I saw a tiny body on the bed
She needed a dye job; she had a streak at the part
It was gray
Who was that?
Why was she next to my husband?
With a gasp I was back in my body
Realizing at once I had been high in the corner a second earlier
This was my first time
The next time I was a bit more open to the idea of astral travel
Luckily I had a friend who knew about it, and it seemed less frightening
I popped out right before I went into REM sleep
Found myself in the same place on the ceiling, watching
My body was snoring, but I was up here
How can I do that? I wondered.
I got more adventurous with each pop out.
By the fifth or sixth time, I began to experiment
I could think of a school yard and I would immediately be there.
Eventually I could think Omaha or St Louis and I would be there
It was a wonderful way to travel
I never felt stressed or worried that I would not be pulled back
Always feeling the silver cord that attaches my soul to my body
I was forty when I discovered my father had been a traveler too